Twas the night before Christmas Eve, and against the Gilchrist house,
Carmedy and Garrett were hiding, as quiet as a mouse.
If she had more time, Kate would have butchered the famous poem further.
A cat rubbed itself against the trunk of a topiary yew. It was a calico, slightly scruffy, but with large luminous eyes that looked upward with an expression that clearly said pet me, I’ll purr. As a hint of rewards to come, it let out a soft brrpp of pleasure. Then it sat, waiting expectantly.
The dart was thrown with lightning speed and deadly accuracy . . . or it would have been deadly if the cat was real.
Before the dart stopped vibrating, Jake and Kate were out on the sidewalk. Irene Collins was staring at the ‘Real Kitty’ toy in shocked horror. She was so taken aback, she hardly noticed the detectives until they laid hands on her. Then she started screaming and flailing about, like a woman fighting for her life.
Jake tried to calm her. Kate, who was cold, stiff and in need of painkillers, went straight to the taser and zapped her. Irene jerked, then folded like a rag doll. As Jake cuffed her, Kate bagged the dart and decoy. The cat was still purring.
Concluded tomorrow, or read the whole story at: